02:20 Boy
by Halawia
Summary: He doesn't mean to turn invisible, but it happens
1. Going invisible

**Hello! If you've wandered across, I hope you'll continue on :)**

**So I wrote this after being frustrated not seeing what happens after Simon goes invisible in the Misfits Christmas special. Figured I'd write something up for it. This is a two part short fic.  
**

**Fic title credited to the song 02:20 boy. I felt it fit with the kind of character Simon is. Header is from Damien Rice's Cannonball.  
**

**I own nothing, just playing in the new playground!  
**

~There's still a little bit of your taste in my mouth

There's still a little bit of you laced with my doubt~

He doesn't mean to turn invisible.

At least that's what he tells himself as he walks away. It's an impulse, a defense mechanism. He figured that out quite some time ago. Any time the loneliness crept in, taking over. When the world got too big, he got smaller. Fear, rejection, disappointment, self- loathing, all of these things were triggers.

It wouldn't take much in the beginning. One minute he would be there, the next, gone- lost to the entire world- this invisible boy. A cruel joke to be played on someone that felt invisible his entire life as it already was. To become that... to be truly unseen, to be no one... it was hard. Though, with him slowly coming out of his shell more and more each day, being less scared, less alone, it hadn't happened as much. He's not all the person that he used to be, and that's something good he tries to hold onto when his insides want to claw themselves apart.

He doesn't mean to turn invisible, but it happens.

This time, it's shame that does him in. Humiliation and degradation. Jealousy? He doesn't know for sure which one it is. Maybe it's all of them. It's a lot of things, but one thing it's not is pleasant. It never has been. And he felt it gripping him even before it happened, as he sat beside her in bed after... after. It crawled up and around his insides all slow and suffocating, restricting the spaces where bone and body and matter fit together- tightening and pulling apart.

Many people would kill for the opportunity to become invisible- for whatever reason they may find- but it's merely their fantasy. They like the idea. Simon knows better than that. The fantasy would become a nightmare when reality of how awful it is sets in. It hurts. As if the emotional aspects of what he would experience weren't enough, those things, feelings, they would become physical. He found loneliness was the worst. Loneliness made the disappearance that much more painful.

Sometimes he does hate it.

Moments like the one he experienced sitting in that bed with her, just thinking, always thinking. He lacked the inability to turn his brain off. And it was racing, then. Pausing, rewinding, replaying.

Then he felt it, and tried not to let it show. The slow, painful, aching burn settled itself in the pit of his stomach, and he knew he would go. Even though he kept telling himself not to. Kept fighting to stay. After all, how many times had he promised Alisha he wouldn't go invisible on her? She didn't like it. And she had explained to him- quite a few times- that it wasn't him being invisible that bothered her.

She knew it was a part of him, in the same way they thought her power would always be a part of her. It didn't define who they were. She was okay with him going invisible. No, it was the loneliness she experienced once he was gone, she'd once told him. How alone she felt- something he knew all too well. So he tried. He shoved it down somewhere deep inside himself and strived to keep it there.

But then she wanted to talk. "It doesn't matter," she had said to him. But it did, she couldn't know how much it did. And he hadn't wanted to talk. He needed the silence to focus on staying there with her, but Alisha never did good with that. Maybe she wasn't big on expressing her feelings, but she always seemed to feel the need to fill up every ounce of quiet with something, anything. He'd bit into his lip, forcing the words down, trying his damndest to keep her from seeing the side of him threatening to burst out.

The insecure side.

The lost side.

Still, regardless of the resistance, his mouth opened and it spilled out, slipped between his teeth and settled on his tongue. How he felt. He was upset with himself the minute he said what was bothering him. How many conversations had he and Alisha shared about his future self, all the times she'd told him it didn't matter, that she liked him for him, not who he was or the person she was with before him? Still, all those times, it never made it easier- didn't make him feel much better. It's wasn't comforting, then, either. And he wished he'd stayed quiet, had kept it bottled up. She just wouldn't understand. How could she? She wasn't the one who had to try and live up to some perfect version of herself.

That was the thought in his head as he pushed himself out from under the covers and off the bed, moving away from her- trying to move away from himself. Then the rest of the thoughts in his head fell between his lips, too. "You'll always love him more than you love me." And it had happened... he disappeared.

The first thing he wants to do is fall back into himself and be visible to her again, but he knows that won't happen any time soon, not when he's still feeling so inept, so awful. When he's a small distance away from the bed he turns and catches Alisha flopping back with a sigh, bunching the covers around her body.

"How long will it be this time?" she asks aloud. "I mean, there's no rush. Take your time if you need it, I just-"

"I don't know," he answers above whatever she says next.

"You know we'll be talking about this shit when you're back, yeah?"

And he almost wants to smile. Almost. Because this is a side of her he likes so much- her take- no- bullshit- attitude. The way she won't put up with anything that would displease her. He recalls the way it once scared him, made him feel so tiny under her sharp tongue. But that's faded. He hasn't felt that in quite some time. Because they had been growing, he had been growing. Changing more every day. Things were different. She had helped him to become different.

That's when a moment they'd shared in that bed just minutes ago flashes in his mind.

"It's you," she'd whispered. And he didn't have to be a mind reader to know it wasn't him she was speaking to. She was merely talking to a ghost of him. Someone she'd known, a boy she'd recognized. One she sometimes still missed, even though she swore she didn't. Someone she loved. Someone that isn't him.

The thought makes him stomach ache. It hurts to look at her, then, with such thoughts in his head, so he turns and walks away.

He gets dressed, and just that one thing alone feels like one small step in the direction of knowing what to do next. He likes plans, likes knowing what should come next. Keeping patterns has always been something that comforts him when he's felt out of place. It's what makes this more unsettling. He doesn't know what to do. This only leads to pacing around the flat while his mind races.

He wants to let the thoughts out, but imagines what they would sound like echoing off the walls, all big and loud and threatening, and knows it would only make things more unpleasant. His mind can be a terrifying place. Sometimes there's too much space in their flat, he thinks.

He moves from the bathroom to the kitchen, then, sneaking glances over his shoulder to the bed as he moves. Alisha is still lying there, quiet as can be. He wonders if she might have fallen asleep. He feels like a coward for not being able to face her, not being able to just go back to the bed and tell her he's sorry for being so inadequate. He's sorry for not being what he imagines she wants. Something better. Someone so unlike himself. He's always thought she deserved better, anyway. And she'd had someone like that once.

If he had said that, though, had kept letting things just fall out of his mouth, she would have rolled her eyes and told him to shut up. That it wasn't true. She already had, on more occasions than one, but it never really stuck. Sometimes, not even reassurances can take things away. After all, these have always been the kind of voices in his head- the ones that made him feel like he wasn't good enough. And they're currently the ones that makes it so hard to just listen to what she had said to him.

"It doesn't matter."

He tries saying it to himself a few times, but it's drowned out by disparity.

His finger nails dig into his palms.

In the kitchen, he walks around the counter and, at the fruit bowl, plucks out a couple grapes, popping them in his mouth. And he keeps thinking. He recalls the first time he'd found out about this place. He remembers leaving the bar after a night of hanging out with the others, and having intentions of following Alisha back to her flat, because she'd just looked so down the entire time they were out. Not her usual self. She'd looked like that a lot for a while there. She didn't know he was there, but he'd wanted to make sure she was okay.

She didn't go home, though. Instead, she came to his place- the home of his future self. He'd followed her inside, up the lift into the wide open space of a place he now knows himself as home.

But then? He recalls how he'd shook down to his toes with shock, the panic attack that nearly took hold as he recognized certain things within the room- the case filled with butterflies on the wall- one that was still hung up in his room back at his own home. Confusion had clogged his brain and made it so hard to think, for the first time in his life. And then his sights had set on her, there on the bed- picture in her hand- of him, of them. Of a time and a place he knew he'd never been.

He hadn't meant to become visible, but he'd popped back into himself as the words tumbled out of him, all the questions.

And all the answers that came after that moment.

Him, a proper superhero? That thought... that was nice. He'd like that, felt the pride of the idea swell within his insides, even if it was only a small thought, then. And not one he thought to say out loud.

But him... with her? That was the hardest thing for his mind to wrap around, to believe, and she'd also told him he had died. He found it easier to understand and accept his own possible death, than the idea of them being together... or her wanting to be with him. He was _Simon_, the invisible boy... a no one.

Still, the way she'd look at him, that intensity in her eyes as they stared at one another... it somehow made things shift. How had he not noticed it before?

She _saw _him.

"Simon?"

He startles at the sound of her voice ringing out in the flat, and ends up knocking into the bowl he'd just been picking food from, sending it falling to the floor. He silently curses himself for not catching it as it hits the floor and shatters, sending little shards of glass in all directions.

He listens as Alisha's quick padded steps fall across the floor, heading to the kitchen. Even though he knows she still can't see him, he shuffles away from the spot he just stood. She was awake the whole time, apparently.

Alisha comes into the room, buttoning up her shirt- no, his shirt. She's wearing one of his button up's. Spotting the broken bowl, she sighs and turns around, and he catches a glimpse of her bare bottom. He swallows heavily at the knowledge that she's walking around in his shirt without any knickers on. It makes him stir, makes a warmth spread throughout his body, but he's quick to shove it down. To ignore it, despite the urge to do otherwise. It isn't the first time he's seen her in a state of undress, but it is the first time he's found her in his clothing. He didn't know that's something she did. It's intimate. Something a woman that's in a relationship with someone she cares about would do, wear her others clothing. It tugs at his insides. He swallows heavily, and watches as she comes back with a broomstick.

"Ridiculous," she mumbles, bending down with the dust pan.

"Watch out for the glass," he says when she nearly steps on a piece.

Almost as if she can hear him, she moves away from the piece that nearly got lodged in her heel and picks it up, dropping it in the pan.

As soon as she's done sweeping everything up and tossing it away, she stands there with her arms crossed over her chest, looking around... searching for him? "Are you still here?"

His hands shake at his sides as he takes slow, tentative steps in her direction, stopping when he's standing behind her. Then he's leaning down carefully, bringing his nose to the back of her neck and breathing her in- recalling a time that feels so far away now where he'd done the same thing. Stalked her like an invisible predator. She'd look right through him. _I'm not that person anymore_, he thinks, before stepping flush against her.

She inhales sharply. "There you are," she all but whispers, a slight shake in her voice.

He's always questioned why things are so much easier for him to do when he's invisible. Following people, trying to play hero, watching people... being around her. There's a safety in this. Perhaps that's why, with trembling hands, he reaches out and carefully traces along her shoulder blades.

The skin there is soft, delicate and warm. It feels nice against his calloused flesh. She feels nice. How many times had he thought of moments like these? When he'd finally be able to touch her.

She sighs, then, and he's so awed by this- just as he'd been when he was in bed with her. Their bodies so close together, the way her breath hitches and she relaxes under his touch- like she's safe here, too. How long they'd gone without this. He's still surprised she even wants him touching her at all, that she enjoys it. How she presses back into him, molding herself to his front side. He never imagined things to be this way.

She makes a noise, a soft moan, and his minds takes him back to before. The sounds she'd made, the way she so desperately pawed at him, wrapped him up in her and slowly drowned him.

How much of a failure he turned out to be.

He steps back, away from her- the tightness back in his chest. He'd nearly had it, nearly been back.

"Simon?" There's sadness in her voice.

He needs to get out of here, needs to breath.

"Sorry," she says, as he starts to walk away.

Me, too," he replies, heading for the lift.

She calls his name twice more once he's inside, tells him to come back, and it echoes to him on his way down. It makes him feel worse. More time to be unseen. Outside the flat, the cold air nips at his exposed skin- the sting slightly pleasant. He can feel things here. It's not all closing in on him.

And he starts to walk. Where, he doesn't really know. He doesn't have a destination in mind. All he wants is some quiet, some air... hell, if he's being honest, he doesn't now what he really wants.

Flashes of images go through his head with each step, though. The warmth of her hands sliding across his skin, the heat of her mouth on his- fingers through his hair and teeth sinking into his lower lip, and how much he liked that. How she knew she liked that- knew just what to do to keep him there, send him over. A chill rolls up his spine and nestles itself in the back of his neck, causing him to shiver.

She had known just what to do, and he knew nothing.

_She knew what to do because she's done them with you before, _a small voice in the back of his mind says.

"Not me," he says aloud, and then bites at the inside of his cheek until blood fills his mouth, and he carries on. Maybe if he moves fast enough he can outrun the whispers of his own thoughts? He thinks of her back at the flat, alone, and it gnaws at him more. He wonders what she might be doing- wonders if she's thinking of him, too.

His mind keeps taking him back to their moments in bed, no matter how hard he tries not to think about it. As if he could forget it, anyway.

He recalls how good she'd felt, and how those feelings extended far beyond the new physical aspects of their relationship. It had been that way for quite some time. He and Alisha had gone so long without being able to touch, being intimate, that he questioned if it would ever happen- despite knowing because of her words to him that it someday would. He thought all of that would come much later. But here it is.

He thinks about all the discussions they'd had about what it would be like when they finally could touch each other. He learned to build a relationship around something other than contact because they couldn't. They talked. They shared things with one another- got to see sides of themselves in each other that no one else got to see.

She felt good, but she always has.

She kept staring into his eyes, he recalls, pictures it. She never took her eyes off him, even when he'd come apart. Her gaze was firm and intense, slightly mystified. She looked... awed by him. She made him feel so real.

When his heart began to race he can't quite recall, but there it is, pounding away. It makes him dizzy. He looks around, and only then realizes just how far he's walked. He's down by the water, practically at the community center. He's quick to take a seat on one of the benches and tighten his fingers in his lap, squeezing the circulation from them. His eyes go the water and linger there as he remembers his first day at community service- painting the benches. It feels like all of that was ages ago, belonging to a life of someone else now.

"Mind if I take a seat?"

He startles so strongly he nearly falls from the bench, his fingers digging into the splintered wood as he struggles to balance himself. When he's settled, he turns with his mouth slightly agape, searching from the voice of whomever's just spoken to him. A short distance from the bench there stands an elderly man, shades on his eyes and a walking can at his side.

Simon's mind flits to the thought almost instantly, a power. This man, whoever he may be, possess a power that has allowed him to see Simon while he's invisible.

"You..." he licks his suddenly dry lips. "You can see me?"

"What's that, boy?" he croaks. "You're too quiet, speak up."

Clearing his throat, he repeats himself. "Can you see me?"

The old man chuckles. "Young man, I ain't seen a thing for the better part of fifteen years now." On that note, he reaches up and taps the glasses over his eyes.

Blind? This rolls around in Simon's head. The man can't see him, but he knows he's there. Simon's sure he's still invisible, he can still feel the heat in his veins. So how does this man know? Does his one sense being cut off play a part in it? What gave him away? Sound, smell? If this blind man knows he's there... does that mean other blind people will, too? He's got a million questions in his head, and he's over thinking every single one.

"So, about that seat?"

"Oh... um, of course." He swallows nervously and slides over on the bench, never taking his eyes off the man as he shuffles over and takes a seat beside him. Then the man holds out his hand.

"Name's Ben."

"S-Simon," he stutters, giving Ben's hand a quick shake."

"Simon?" he repeats. "Had a good friend growing up named Simon. Good name. Strong. You should work on speaking up though, boy. I can hardly hear ya. It's like you're whispering."

Whispering? But he's been speaking at full volume this entire time. Why is he hardly heard by the blind man? Maybe...

"How did you know I was here?" he blurts out.

Ben laughs again and taps at his nose. "Got a good snoze here. I smelled you. You sure do ask a lot of questions. Why are you so concerned with how I knew you were here?"

Simon's heart skips an extra beat. "No reason."

"You're not a very good liar, Simon. But I'm not the kind of man to push things when it's clear someone doesn't want to answer something. I can respect that."

"Thanks," he mumbles.

"So what brings you out here so late at night?"

For someone who's just accused him of asking a lot of questions, Ben seems to do a lot of the same.

"What's it to you?"

Ben shrugs his shoulder. "Just making conversation, boy."

Simon ducks his head. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me. If it's all the same, I'd rather not say."

"I can respect that, too."

"What... what brings you out so late?"

Ben sighs and reaches up, wiping at his mouth. "It's my anniversary today," he says a moment later. "Forty- two years today."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"So why are you down here alone? Where's your wife?"

He wishes he hadn't asked as Ben's lower lip trembles.

"Oh. I- I'm sorry."

"No, no." He gives Simon's leg a pat. "Don't be sorry. I'm not. I was blessed with forty long, wonderful years with my Suzy. And I'd do it all over again in a second if given the chance. Don't be sorry, she wouldn't be." His gaze goes out to the water. "She liked it down here. We'd always come here on our daily evening walks and feed the ducks."

"I brought Alisha here for our first date."

Ben turns to him and smiles. "So this _is _about a special lady."

"What?"

"I had an inkling that's what you being here was about."

"Yeah? Why do you say that?"

His grin widens. "I can still smell her fresh on your skin."

Simon feels his eyes might bug from his head. "You're saying..."

Ben nods and Simon feels his entire body flush. He clears his throat and quickly tells him, "It's personal."

"As most things go when it comes to a lady, eh?"

"I like her a lot."

"Well, then... why in the world are you here?"

"I- I don't know how to... be around her right now. I'm not sure what to say or do."

Leaning back, Ben reaches up and slowly removes his glasses, giving Simon a look in the dim light of his glassy eyes. "Can I give you some advice?"

Simon leans forward, listening with full attention.

"Sometimes," Ben starts, "the best option when you don't know what to say or do, is to not say or do anything at all. Let her talk. Be a good listener. Trust what she says. Because there will be a day, someday, when she won't be there anymore. And all the worries you ever had won't matter because the only thing you'll be thinking about then..." his voice cracks, "is how much you miss the sound of her voice, and her smell, and the feel of her skin. And those will be the things you remember. Not this."

"You loved her very much."

"With all my heart and soul."

"That's how I feel about Alisha."

"Then let me ask you this: what are you still doing here?"

"What?"

"Go on! Get out of here. Go home to your lady."

Simon wastes no time in standing from the bench. "T- thank you."

"The pleasure was all mine, boy. Thank you for sparing a bit of your time for a lonely old man."

"The pleasure was all mine."

Ben laughs. "Get out of here."

With a small, polite grin, he turns and begins to walk away, making his way back home... back to her.


	2. Coming back

It's halfway back to their flat that Ben's kind words start to slip away and his feet grow heavy with each step closer her gets. He thinks about Alisha's words to him before- how they'd be talking when he got back. What will she want to talk about? What if she's going to split up with him for being a shit lover?

"Stop it," he mumbles aloud, willing away the thought. There might have been a time once when Alisha would have done such a thing to some bloke, but she's not like that anymore. And as far as he's been able to see, he's not just any bloke. After all, he'd risked his own life to come back in time and- his upper lip curls on its own accord.

He'd come back in time once, made Alisha fall in love with him. He'd fucked her... _died _for her, and he got left behind to pick up the pieces of that. And what has he done so far besides fall and get beat up all the time trying to learn Parkour, and be a shit lover? All these things he's supposed to be good at- accomplish- and he can't do a single one right.

Even if he never mastered the Parkour, he and Alisha are supposed to be destined to be, shouldn't things like talking... like sex, come much easier? So why does he constantly feel like he's being crushed under the weight of all the things he can't do?

He sighs and flits his gaze from the ground to see he's mere steps from he and Alisha's flat. As he draws closer, he spots a box just outside the door. With a slight shake of his head, he walks over to it and bends down, pulling it open. Another sigh escapes him as he sees what's inside- the superhoodie suit.

This isn't the first time she's done this. In fact, it's happened quite a few times. Any time he's ever had an insecurity as far as his future self goes, she's always packed up the suit and dropped it outside. Her way of saying, 'You're what's important This doesn't matter anymore.' She hated the outfit, anyway, so things like this gave her incentive.

He wishes it were as simple as tossing the suit away.

Picking the box up, he opens to the door to the lift, cursing why their flat couldn't have stairs. He doesn't want her to know he's back, just yet. He silently hopes she won't as he rides up, the entire time feeling like it takes an eternity. He finds himself breathing a sigh of relief as he opens the door and hears the shower running. It's the perfect mask for the noise. Quickly he shuffles inside and drops the box on the floor, making his way over to the table to sit down. A moment later, the shower turns off. The timing couldn't have been better, really.

A few minutes later, Alisha emerges, towel wrapped around her body with the ringlets of her hair still dripping wet. His skin flushes and his heart skips. He likes her like this, likes her any way, really, but especially when she's at her most natural. He's the only one who gets to see this side of her.

He watches as she slowly moves to the small dresser beside the bed and pulls out some clothes. She stands there for a second, staring down at them with a curious look on her face before smirking and tossing them on the floor. His fingers twitch at his side with the urge to walk over and pick them up, but that thought goes out the window as the towel drops from her body and she crawls onto the bed.

He stares at her lying there, naked and quiet as can be with a raging curiosity at what she's doing. Then the air is catching in his throat as she carefully reaches up and places her hand on her chest, and runs it down the length of her torso. She stops at her hip and lets her fingers linger there for a brief pause before trailing them back up. She closes her eyes and lets out a soft hum. That's all it takes for him to be straining against his trousers.

She does that a few more times before raising her knees up and letting them fall open so he has full view of everything. He has to remind himself to breathe as her fingers dip between her thighs and she starts touching herself, a whimper escaping her lips.

His heart is now slamming against his rib cage, and he's suddenly so hot- when did the air get so hot? He's quick to undo the top buttons of his shirt that were feeling so suffocating. This isn't the first time she's touched herself in front of him, but it's the first time he's seen her do it alone... him being invisible to her. It's private- the most private thing he's ever seen her do.

Until he hears her voice, soft and quiet. "I know you're there," she tells him, and he nearly chokes on his own tongue. How? Almost as if she's read his mind again, she says, "The box that I left outside. It's back inside. S' okay." She moans and raises her hips from the bed. "I don't mind you watching. Or... you can always join in. One way or another I'll be getting off."

Her hand stills for a moment as she appears to what for what his decision will be, but his feet are as heavy as wet sand, so he doesn't move.

"All right, then," she says, releasing a sigh, as she goes back to touching herself.

And he watches, head cocked to the side, eyes wide, and lips as dry as the desert, he watches. Every fiber of his being says to go to her, yet his stubborn legs keep him glued to where he sits. He doesn't want to ruin this moment. Wants to commit it to memory. Pause, rewind, replay.

"Are you still upset?" she asks, slipping her finger inside herself while her thumb works at her clit.

"No," he whispers.

She starts to moves her hips in rhythm with her hand. "It was only you," she tells him. "When we were fucking. I was only with you... but he was you, and you're going to be him, and, fuck, why is this even an issue? Oh-" Her legs tense. He watches as they shake, tremble, knees knocking into one another as her back arches.

"I'm close," she pants.

And he could be, too, he thinks, if he wasn't so focused on what's happening in front of him. Because, God, he's hard, so damn hard, and he knows all it would take is one touch- one stroke.

"Are you touching yourself, too?" she asks, breathlessly.

"No," he answers, even knowing she can't hear him, wonders how she would react if she could. "I used to," he finds himself saying as he thinks of all those times he was alone in his room, the empty nights, and the ache that would settle over him. When he would palm himself roughly, almost too rough, because sometimes pain and pleasure held hands and guided him to the places he wanted to be. Let him know he was real. Took him away. He was oh so different, then. Someone outside of himself.

He'd try not to think of her, really he would. But something would always find it's way in, the extra moment her eyes might linger on him, and how he'd always wondered what she was thinking. He knows now. But then? It drove him mad. So many times he wanted to know why there was such a sadness in her eyes, and wanted so badly to tell her how that had called to him, though she wouldn't have understood it back then. She would have been more apt to spit venom at him, and he probably would have taken it like he always did, because something from her was better than nothing. She had a power over him and he liked it. It was nice- and only a little frightening- being under her gaze. How his heart would race.

Her voice would slip into his head, all high and almost musical, with only a slight grit to it. And he would imagine the things she might say if he were touching her, fucking her- pictured the way his name would sound on her lips.

"Simon," she all but whines.

It sounds like that. If only she knew the way that makes him feel. Like his twisted up insides are slowly unraveling, like she's finally found the answers- the way to make him feel not so alone. Maybe he should have said it to her earlier, that first moment he'd pushed inside her. God, how that felt. And she'd sighed his name like she was finally home. And maybe he was, too. There was that thrum under his skin, the slight throb at the back of his head, her hands... everywhere. It had never been like that before. He existed there with her.

His body seems to finally get the message, the weight in his legs lightens and he stands from the table on shaking legs, moving towards the bed.

"I can almost feel you," she says, her voice barely a whisper as her fingers work faster between her legs. "Your hands, your mouth, God- your tongue. I can hear your voice in my ear, feel your breath on my skin. I remember, I remember... fuck!" Her eyes fly open, landing on the spot where he stands at the foot of the bed, and he swears for a moment she's looking right at him instead of through him. As if she can see him there.

Knowing she can't makes it more intimate. More private. More voyeuristic. This is the side of himself he still recognizes. The urge to see while not being seen. That's one thing that hasn't yet faded. The only thing he's missing is the camera in his hand. Once, in a time before, he might have even filmed what he was seeing here now, just to pause, rewind, replay it later on. He wonders for a moment what it would be like to have Curtis' power- to be able to relive certain moments.

It's a fleeting thought, though, as he watches her come undone in front of him, her head falling back against the pillow as her hips and back rise from the mattress, her legs closing tightly around her hands. His name falls from her lips over and over. It echoes inside the flat and rings inside his ears, pulsing at the back of his head, and she's so beautiful like this.

The only thing after that is the sound of her breathing in the quiet of their flat. He closes his eyes and counts the seconds between each in take of air until-

"Hey," she says.

He slowly opens his eyes and finds her looking at him, really looking at him. He's quick to glance around until he finds something that will show his reflection. It's there in a small mirror on the wall... himself. He's back. He swallows heavily and looks back at her. "Hi."

She sits up, pulling the covers up over her and bunching them around her body like she's grown somewhat shy all the sudden. Much like his invisibility, Alisha's confidence has always been in her sexuality, and right now neither of them have anything to hide behind. And he'd never admit it, but he sort of likes it when she's unsure of herself. As someone who knows all too well what that's like, it's nice to know he's not always alone in it.

"So... you been there the whole time?" she asks.

"I started out... at the table," he replies, pointing to it.

She smirks. "Enjoy the show, then."

He looks down at the ground. "You did that because you knew I was here."

"Woulda done it, either way."

He flushes and fidgets where he stands, unsure of what to say or do next.

"Simon?"

He peeks up at her from under his lashes.

"Come get in bed, yeah?"

He stares at her for a long moment, and then looks down at the very apparent bulge in his pants. A blush spreads across his cheeks. "Could I have a moment."

She glaces down and back up at him, smirking slightly. "Sure."

He nearly trip over his feet rushing to the loo.

A few minutes later he emerges, button his trousers. Alisha giggles from the bed. "Feel better?"

He swallows nervously, but still manages a smile and a nod.

"Come on," she says, patting the empty spot beside her on the bed.

With a deep breath, he shuffles over and sinks down on the edge of the bed, facing away from her as he begins taking his shoes off. His back tenses when he feels the mattress shift under his weight as Alisha moves over to where he sits. He has to remind himself to breath as her hands slip around to the front of his shirt and her mouth presses against his ear. "Missed you," she whispers, and he shivers as her warm breath hits the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry I left like that," he tells her, giving her a look over his shoulder.

She shrugs. "Where'd you go?"

"D-down on the estate, by the water."

"Oh. What did you do there?"

He opens his mouth, intending to tell her about meeting Ben but stops himself. If he tells her, she'll ask a ton of questions, and then he'll have to tell her that he talked to a complete stranger about their relationship problems because he was too scared to talk to her. She won't like that. And he's just so tired, then, like he could lie down and fall asleep... not wake up for ages. Disappearing is as exhausting as it is painful.

"I just sat there," he tells her instead. "Thought about stuff."

"What kinda stuff?" she asks, her fingers beginning to work at undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Alisha." He reaches up, stopping her.

She lets out a huff. "Relax. I don't have my power anymore. I can't make you do anything you don't want." There's a sharpness to her tone as she says it, something that makes him feel bad, and he doesn't try to stop her again as she goes back to what she was doing. She slowly pulls his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms until it's off and she's tossing it away from them. When her lips touch the bare skin of his back, he involuntarily flinches.

He's quick to tell her he's sorry. He's still not used to this, not having her power working on him. He's spent so long avoiding the contact of her skin on his- for the fear of what might come out of his mouth- that this is still a new adjustment. He keeps forgetting they can touch. This will take some getting used to.

"S' okay," she replies. "I'm not so used to it myself, yet."

"What you said... it's not that I don't want to do anything. I do. Want to do things. I just-"

"It's fine," she cuts in. "I kind of sprung it on you and you weren't ready. I get it. Do you... ya know, wanna talk about it?"

"Do you," he quickly fires back.

"Not really. But if you do-"

"I don't," he answers, and then she slowly coaxes him back on the bed so he's lying down. He watches as she lays down beside him, her eyes going to the ceiling. He does the same. It's quiet for a long time, neither of them knowing what to say. The silence eventually becomes too suffocating for even him and he's the first to say something.

"When you were touching yourself..." He feels her eyes land on him. "Were you thinking of him?"

"I was thinking about _you_, Simon."

"You know what I mean."

"I actually don't. You're the same person-"

"I'm not him," he interjects. "You keep saying that, but we're not. He was better than me! He knew how to be with you, how to touch you... fuck you. He knew everything, and I don't. So how can we be the same person?"

She sighs. "Okay, maybe... maybe you're not exactly the same. But someday you're going to be him. You'll see."

This is getting nowhere. It's the same discussion they've had a hundred times with only a slight difference thrown in. The end result will be the same. Eventually she'll get mad and won't want to talk about it anymore. He swallows heavily. "When you were... the stuff you said," he licks his lips, "about me. What you remember. Was it like that... with me?"

"What?"

"Do I make you feel like he did? During sex, I mean. I- I know I was shit-"

"Stop. Just stop that." Alisha sits up, not bothering with keeping herself covered so the only thing Simon can do at first is stare at her chest. "Simon!" He blushes and looks up to find her looking down at him. "It was different. You were from the future, for fucks sake. You were with _me _in the future. I'm sure sex wasn't perfect for the other versions of us at first."

"You're saying it wasn't good."

She laughs softly. "No. Simon, it's good for me because it's with _you_. The you I was with in this bed a few hours ago is the one I want. Maybe the sex isn't perfect right now, but it will be someday. Just takes time. But you need to stop comparing yourself to him."

Simon's gaze goes back to the ceiling. "You must think I'm an annoying twat."

"You can be." He looks at her and she smiles. "I'm joking. You're not annoying, just... a bit stubborn. Difficult to talk to. Mostly stubborn."

For the first time that evening, he cracks a small smile.

"Tired?" she asks a moment later.

"A bit."

"Turn off the light, yeah? We can talk more in the morning if you're up for it."

He nods, leaning over to flip the switch on the lamp, shrouding the flat in darkness. She lays down beside him and only then does he remove his trousers, slipping under the covers with her.

"Simon?"

He jumps a little at her voice. "Yeah?"

"Next time we shag, doesn't matter how it goes, no turning invisible. Kay?"

He smiles a little. "Okay."

He feels her fumbling around and holds his hand out until hers finds his, and she entwines their fingers together. This is the first time they've been able to hold hands without some sort of barrier between them, he thinks.

"Goodnight, Simon," she says with a sigh.

He gives her hand a squeeze. "Goodnight, Alisha."

It's very quiet in their flat after that. On his back, eyes still open and staring at the ceiling, Simon listens to Alisha's breathing until it evens out and he's sure she's fallen asleep. Then he lets his mind wander. He thinks of Ben a little more, and that leads to him thinking about Alisha, of course. He replays what he saw, her hands on her body, the things she said during, and the things she said after. He repeats her own words back to him in his head, that it was good for her because it's with him. The words had sounded sincere, like she really meant them, so why does he not feel entirely okay, yet?

He tenses for the briefest of moments when Alisha curls her naked body around his, her hand coming to rest on his chest with her nose skimming his arm. They're skin to skin, and it makes him think of all the things he'd like to do with her again. But he won't. Not tonight. Instead, he carefully reaches out and gently places his hand on her bare hip and this is enough for now.

He closes his eyes, tomorrow's plan of who to talk to already in his mind and as he starts to drift off to sleep... he pauses, rewinds, replays.


End file.
